


Scheduling

by perculious



Category: Watchmen
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perculious/pseuds/perculious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mothman's pretty sure Dollar Bill has a crush, and he doesn't know what to do about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scheduling

Mothman was good at noticing things. For a while now, he'd been picking up on the look Nelson sometimes gave Hooded Justice, like he wanted to tear that hood off with his teeth and just keep going. He wasn't blind to the way Silhouette stalked around, ignoring all of them but giving a special extra look to Sally. And he wasn't naive, either. Among his leftist college friends there had been a certain amount of that sort of thing going on, and he'd found it harmless enough and certainly nothing to get upset over.

So he was at a loss to explain why it made him so angry to see Dollar Bill and Nite Owl together. They were sickeningly obvious, always sitting by each other during Minutemen meetings and swapping knowing looks. It was grotesque, is what it was. Really, Mothman thought, watching them anxiously, couldn't it at least wait until the meeting was over? Was Dollar Bill really _that_ desperate to talk to Nite Owl in the way he did, leaning back with an easy smile and making some sort of remark that made the other man look over at him and grin? Seeing them ignited a slow burn deep in his stomach, and he hated it.

What made it worse was that the more he tried to avoid the two of them, the more he seemed to see them everywhere. Particularly Dollar Bill. It seemed like every time he turned a corner, he would run into Bill, who would give him a surprised and pleasant "Well hi there!" and a warm smile that made his insides twist. For some reason he and Bill were always paired up on patrols, even after he came back to the headquarters once to grab his coat and saw Hollis having a discreet talk with Captain Metropolis. Nelson conveniently scheduled all his own shifts to coincide with HJ's, so Mothman figured Hollis just wanted the same kind of treatment. But for some reason Nelson had gone on putting Mothman with Dollar Bill.

The first few times it was alright. Dollar Bill was friendly enough, and he didn't seem to mind being put on the same shift as Mothman, even if it meant he had to be without his other half. He was better at the crimefighting stuff than Mothman had expected, given his background, and he seemed really in earnest. The problems started when Bill decided that coexisting comfortably wasn't enough, and they needed to have partnerly conversation.

"So what's your deal with moths?" Bill said as they walked down a cool, cobblestoned alley. It was only ten pm, and they hadn't seen much yet that required their professional intervention.

"W-What do you mean?" Mothman said, self-consciously adjusting his wings.

"Well," Bill said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, "you sure must like them a lot."

"They're alright," Mothman said. He kicked a pebble, hearing it bounce down the alleyway. "It's m-mostly symbolic. The wings are nice."

"Not a lot of people would have chosen a moth, even if they did want some sort of flying creature," Bill said. "I mean, why not, I don't know, a butterfly?"

"That would r-really strike terror into the hearts of the city's c-criminal element," Mothman muttered. To his surprise, Bill laughed. He looked up, and Bill was grinning down at him. Mothman might have liked it—there was some sort of odd, giddy feeling rising in his chest—but then he remembered Nite Owl. Things weren't like that.

"Is there something wrong with m-moths?" he said.

"No, of course not," Bill said, looking faintly surprised. "I like the moth thing."

The next time they were on patrol together, in the afternoon this time, Bill tried to explain football in Mothman's own terms.

"So it's kind of like you're the proletariat," he said, "and the other team is the bourgeoisie. You know you might not have a chance and it's gonna be a long haul to get there but you've just got to do your best, you know?"

"I don't think the two s-situations are analogous," Mothman said testily, glancing over at him.

"Well, when you're on the field it sure feels like a never-ending class struggle," Bill said, grinning again. The light was catching his blond hair and it was making Mothman uncomfortable. Bill was probably doing it on _purpose_. It was just the kind of thing he would do, along with being all unfairly friendly and handsome in Mothman's general direction.

"Football isn't that important to me," Mothman said, "and n-neither are banks, to be honest."

He'd intended to make Bill stop smiling in that way that made him feel so off-balance, but Bill just laughed.

"Well, that's fair," he said. "I guess football isn't really everyone's thing. You come from a pretty wealthy family, though, don't you? If someone was going around robbing banks, I'd think that could be a problem."

Which just went to show, Mothman thought, how completely dense Bill was. As if Byron cared about his family's money. The robber would probably need it more than the Lewises did, so if you thought about it Bill was actually on Byron's parents' side, keeping their money out of the reach of some poor desperate man driven to robbery by the oppression of the capitalist system. It was sick. It was like he was against Robin Hood or something. Yes, that was it.

He tried to ignore the part of him that felt slightly fluttery at the idea that Bill was paying enough attention to him to know about his background.

What frustrated Mothman more than anything was that, no matter what he said or did, he couldn't get Bill to stop being friendly to him. He hated having Bill smiling at him, looking like a glossy magazine cover, teeth perfect and white. He should save those smiles for Nite Owl; it wasn't fair to be beaming them recklessly all over the place. Some people might not _like_ to be smiled at like that by someone who was so clearly spoken for, not that that had anything to do with it whatsoever.

Still, they kept going on patrols together, and Dollar Bill kept talking to him. He asked Mothman to show him how the wings worked. He asked Mothman about his life, his childhood, his decision to become a costumed adventurer. And when Mothman answered him, which he did more often when he started getting sick of resisting, Bill would listen intently and comment on all the important parts.

Whenever they had to, they broke up muggings and returned snatched purses. Sometimes it was Bill's athletic speed and strength that came in handy, and sometimes Mothman's ability to think on his feet and the way he could glide across rooftops.

One day they cornered a shoplifter in an alley. Mothman was emptying the man's pockets of jewels when he pulled out a knife, turned Mothman around and held it to his throat. Mothman froze, afraid to swallow in case it drove the knife point into his skin. Bill went white with rage and flew at the man, wrenching the knife out of his grip and knocking him out with one punch. Mothman gripped the stone wall behind him for support, trying to stop himself from shaking, because he was not going to let Dollar Bill think he had performed some sort of heroic rescue. He had no interest in hearing later about how football superstar and all-around good citizen Bill Brady had saved weak, pathetic, stuttery Byron Lewis. He would have gotten out of it on his own. Probably. Somehow.

Bill, standing over the shoplifter's limp body, looked over at Mothman almost sheepishly. He took an awkward step or two towards him.

"Are you okay?" he said.

"I'm f-fine," Mothman said, and he would have given anything to make his voice sound a little less small and breathless.

"I, um." Bill hesitated, then spoke in a rush, his voice low. "I would have killed him if he'd done anything to you."

Mothman was still trying to process that when Bill took another step forward, cupped his hands around Byron's face and kissed him softly. His weight gently pressed Mothman's back against his wings, into the stone wall behind him.

Mothman pushed him away. "W-What do you think you're d-doing?" he said, hot with indignation.

Bill looked at him, seeming confused and suddenly unsure.

"Is that not... okay?" he said.

"Of course it's not okay," Byron snapped. "Do you really think I don't know about you and N-Nite Owl?"

"Hollis?" Now Bill looked thoroughly confused, and he reached a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. "What's Hollis got to do with it?"

"You and he, you're always t-talking together and sitting together and I'm not blind, you know," Mothman said. "I'm not g-going to be part of any twisted affairs."

Bill just looked at him. He seemed to be casting around for what to address first.

"Hollis is in love with Sally," he said carefully.

"Oh, so you're trying to m-make him jealous?" Mothman said, glaring from underneath his antennae.

"No," Bill said, his words slow and deliberate. "No, that's not it at all. Byron, I've been talking to Hollis a lot because I've been talking to him about you."

Mothman gripped at the wall behind him. "What?"

"You seemed like a hard guy to get to know," Bill said, smiling awkwardly and running a hand through his light hair. "I'm, uh, I'm not always that good at things like this. I asked Hollis for advice, and he said I should try to talk to you, get to know you better. Share your interests. He talked to Nelson and got him to schedule us to patrol together. Sorry, I thought you—I'm sorry."

Mothman felt the world shifting around him and reassembling itself as something very different. He was more off-balance than ever, but somehow it was a good thing.

"B-But I thought..." he started, then stopped. "So all those times when you s-smiled at me..."

"I mean, Hollis is a great guy but he's kind of bland, don't you think?" Bill said. "I mean, he's not like..." He trailed off and cleared his throat nervously.

"You can try that again," Mothman said quietly. "If—if you want."

Bill moved towards him and kissed him again, his mouth open and wet. Mothman pressed his hands against Bill's chest and god, he hadn't realized until now how much of the ache inside him was fear that he would never have this.

When Bill drew back, Mothman said, "Do you think the city will collapse into ruin if we s-stop fighting crime for a night?"

"Probably not," Bill panted. "Think of Nelly and HJ."


End file.
